


Smut

by Teland



Series: Break Time [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-08-11
Updated: 1998-08-11
Packaged: 2020-11-28 07:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20962835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: John and Ringo go home to play.





	Smut

Byers moved slowly and carefully down the old cement   
stairs. He really didn't trust his legs, yet, and blood was   
pounding in his ears in anticipation. 

Sometimes his body's reactions to Langly were just this   
side of terrifying. 

Hot breath on the back of his neck in just that moment   
before being spun, slammed against the wall. Knee between   
his legs, demanding he spread, demanding he rock just that   
way... sharp little tongue in his mouth. 

Sometimes he even cared.

//What *is* this?//

Langly was fucking his mouth, grinding against him, hands   
in his hair and pulling, eerily silent save for the harsh   
little sounds of the younger man's breathing. 

"You want to... take me right here?" Sometimes he thought   
his throat went out drinking and smoking without him while   
he slept. Only possible explanation for the sound of his   
voice. Langly leaned in at the sound, bit him once on the   
jaw before pulling back again.

"Yeah." That hand snaked down, began working John through   
his pants. "And the back seat of your car..." Moving close   
again, tongue slipping into his ear and thrusting,   
thrusting... "And bent over Mulder's couch..."

Nothing to do but let your laughter stifle a groan, spread   
yourself out for the taking, beg with all you are for the   
gift of your lover's touch. Hope, if distantly, he doesn't   
slam you too hard against this rough, uneven wall. Or,   
that if he does, it's only because he's so deep inside you   
that he wouldn't, couldn't, stop himself from riding you   
hard. 

When Langly pulled away John nearly slid down the wall,   
boneless in frustration. "What *is* it?"

Langly shook his head, pulled his lover in for a briefly   
devastating kiss. "Changed my mind. I want more than this."

Byers locked eyes with the other man just long enough to   
realize, not without some measure of horror, he could stay   
that way for quite a while, indeed. "Let's go, then."

******

Twelve steps above and approximately fifteen feet to the   
southwest, Melvin Frohike ordered his own pizza.

******

John's car was in the shop, so they made their way to   
Langly's in the alley behind headquarters. As entertaining   
as it was to watch his lover fumble for the keys in the   
tight --and undoubtedly painful just now--jeans he'd taken   
to wearing, he couldn't seem to pull his hands away from   
the body of Langly's car. 

1978 Chrysler Cordoba. The younger man had gone on at   
length about having the paint job redone.... Silver grey   
and so *smooth*. He ran his fingers over the trunk. Warm   
day, but the sun didn't actually shine in this dingy   
little alley. Soft, hazy light. Vague light. Smooth and   
just this side of cool. Massive boat of a car, really.   
Why, he could just hop right on the trunk, lay himself out   
propped nicely against the back window, listen to Langly   
curse inventively, imagine what it would sound like   
chuffed against his ear in breathy little pants, maybe   
adjust himself just a bit. And a bit more.

Yes, this Cordoba was really quite a lovely automobile when   
you thought about it. Growled when Langly revved it. The   
thought made several spots on his throat tingle... places   
that always seemed to bring a growl out of the other man.   
Playful gratuitous bounce. The car was slung as low as   
those skimpy little towels Langly insisted on stealing   
from the cheap motels they occasionally frequented...

//What is *wrong* with me?//

On cue, there was that cavernously powerful creak that   
announced Langly had finally gotten the door open. 

"C'mon, Johnboy, we are *not* doin' it on the new paint   
job."

"I always knew you liked this car better than me."   
Pointedly not looking at the other man.

Abruptly, he was being tugged, slid, really, off the trunk   
and into Langly's arms, into yet another mean-lipped   
blitzkrieg kiss. "I just want to wait until I get you on   
that Corinthian leather, baby."

"You're a difficult man to argue with."

Byers allowed himself to be manhandled 

//too many cop shows, Ringo...//

into the car, forced Langly to nudge him to the passenger   
seat with his body. Tight, lean body. Humming with low-  
grade energy, heat.

//Don't you dare stop touching me.//

It was obvious by the small, twitchily determined smile on   
Langly's face he knew precisely what John was doing and   
why, but the older man couldn't seem to find his shame,   
usually such a faithful companion. It may have had   
something to do with the bulge in the faded jeans, the   
outline of the hard cock so clear and tempting in his   
vision. So easy to nuzzle himself under Langly's arm, rest   
his head in the crook of shoulder and torso, let himself be   
moved by the other man's breath...

"Plan on staying there?"

The tone was flippant, the quickened heave of the lean   
chest at his experimental shift anything but. "As a matter   
of fact, yes." John smiled into the fabric of the other   
man's t-shirt, ran a slow hand up the denimed thigh as   
they pulled out of the alley. 

******

Hands on his body, dragging him out of the jacket, fumbling   
with the tie, more curses to make him stupider with need,   
the surprisingly cheerful recognition of yet another   
trigger. John turned away, began to walk into the bedroom,   
removing the belt in quick, efficient motions, the air a   
taunt to his bare chest. He could feel the other man   
behind him. 

Shoes toed off, pants and briefs shucked, John bent at the   
waist to pull back the coverlet, gave a welcoming grunt to   
the hard, hot flesh pressed against him. He made it a   
point to brush as much of the other man as possible as he   
turned, lapping affectionately at the 

//permanent?//

light blush of beard-burn before settling himself on the   
cool, smooth sheet. Langly was nearly purple with need,   
and when he ran his fingers through Byers' hair he   
anticipated the pull and began lapping at the weeping   
head. 

"God, John..."

There weren't many pleasures in the world that could even   
begin to compare to this. The tremble in the younger man's   
fingers as he tried so desperately to avoid yanking out his   
hair by the roots, the shockingly familiar taste, the raw   
sensuality of his lover's cries.... John groaned, slipped   
to the floor,

//always better on my knees//

grasped Langly by the hips and impaled himself as best he   
could. The hoarse cry made him thrust uselessly at the air,   
dig a thumb into the pelvic hollow and tug in   
encouragement. The bucks were short, quick, ruthless   
things, moving with them a task of pure focus. Losing   
himself in this was a joy, the iron in his mouth a   
victory. He could feel that telltale, nearly imperceptible   
thickening on his tongue and immediately forced Langly out   
a bit. It was almost a reflex at this point, the last step   
on the road of desire, any nonsense at all would do so long   
as he could taste it when his lover came. 

Lapping him clean, gently and for as long as it was   
allowed. In a combination of fall and crawl they eventually   
managed to land on the bed. John indulged himself in a   
slow, thorough nuzzle of the other man before reaching   
over to dig in the bedside table.

"Jesus, Byers, give it a few."

"Wha-- Oh." *There* was the missing blush. "I wasn't   
digging for *that*." Pointedly ignoring the lazy quirk of   
the other man's eyebrow. "Although it really couldn't hurt   
to have it handy..." Slick and condoms landed on the bed,   
and Langly heaved a sigh.

"Are you trying to give me performance anxiety?"

Byers only chuckled and continued to rummage for another   
several moments before closing his fist around his prize.   
He brandished it triumphantly.

"You bought... Slim-Jims?" Langly's voice was almost dreamy   
with joy.

John was as carefully nonchalant as he could be. "Well, I   
remembered how... perturbed... you were when 7-11 ran   
out... and that adorable impression of Machismo Boy--"

"That's *Macho Man*, princess."

"Hmmph. Whatever, Hairboy. I really don't know what I'd do   
without your lessons in pop culture. *Anyway*, I just   
thought you might like--"

He was cut off by a positively assiduous exploration of his   
mouth by Langly, already salt-tangy with his jerky. Deep,   
lazy wave of arousal.... He wondered what he'd get for   
sweet-tarts. Langly pulled off with a short bite at his   
obscenely swollen lower lip. "Mmm... Thanks, baby. But   
don't call me Hairboy."

No chance to respond to that, not with Langly tugging at   
the spare thatch on his chest with his teeth, not with   
those hands giving the world's least soothing massage to   
the twitching, jumping muscles of his abdomen. John   
slipped his fingers into the soft, damp strands of yellow   
and closed his eyes.

Sometime later he found himself sobbing at the sadistically   
thorough attentions to his nipples, dark rose and spiked,   
too deep in his haze to interpret the sensations as pain.   
Langly was muttering between sucking bites.

"Love you like this, John... so fucking hot..." Hot hand   
teasing his balls, heavy with need. Another bite and he was   
arching off the bed, sobbing. "Christ yeah, make that sound   
again..." A squeeze there, another bite and he had no   
choice but to oblige. "Tell me what you want." The hand   
slipped around his cock with simple, confident possession,   
stroked far too slowly.

"Langly--"

Another stroke and he was heavy with it, desperate. 

"Say it, John. C'mon." 

"I... I need you inside me. Please--"

Another victory to be able to get the words out, shaky and   
rasped and that tongue was in his mouth again, natural to   
suck on it, nothing but good to feel the hot stickiness   
slide over his hip and belly as Langly groaned into his   
mouth. Dim mental note to further study the effect of   
nitrites on the younger man and then he was being flipped   
on his belly. Up on his knees again and he couldn't stop   
rubbing his face into the damp pillows, adjusting himself   
for the best position and waiting, waiting. 

Harsh pants and he could picture the younger man's struggle   
to keep control while slipping on the condom but every   
lovely image was burned away at the first cool touch to his   
ass and he moaned. Spread himself a little wider, a demand   
of flesh, and he was bound up and caught by the heat   
covering his back, the dirty little whispers in his ear,   
the fingers in his ass. No crime to be a whore for this   
man, not when each rake across his prostate was the   
promise to be used precisely the way he needed. Another   
slice of eternity, the shock of loss immediately   
ameliorated by the blunt nudge of Langly's cock. The   
younger man slipped in with a sigh and held him there,   
letting them both savor the delicious thrill of being   
joined. Too good to stand.

"Please..."

Torturous pull as Langly pulled out nearly all the way,   
grinding control not to follow but the first slam made him   
howl, dig his fingers into the mattress and shudder. He   
never disappointed, not in this, fast and hard and loud. He   
could only presume his neighbors were far too convinced   
they were hallucinating to complain. Somewhere between a   
heartbeat and forever and he was losing it, bucking hard   
into Langly's thrusts and tearing his throat to shreds.   
The younger man kept on, driving him far beyond the point   
of his own orgasm into animal rut, cursing and crying his   
name just like Byers knew he would.

Awkward, messy time of rearrangement and sticky cuddles. A   
shared, rueful look confirmed that neither of them would   
be heading to the shower anytime soon. There was no way   
the smell of sex would ever fully dissipate from his   
bedroom. 

He could live with that.

******  
End.  
******


End file.
